


Best-Laid Plans Never Go Awry

by WyvernQuill



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: (Very brief), Crack, Evil Plans, Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Marriage of Convenience, UNIT-era, more than a little silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-12 12:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18010577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyvernQuill/pseuds/WyvernQuill
Summary: "These aliens you've allied yourself with...""Yes?" The Master folded his hands and leaned back, clearly exordinately pleased with the unsettled look on his best enemy's face."...they don't happen to be Traitorians?""Why, Doctor! Correct on first try, congratulations.""Of the planet Betrayus?""Absolutely.""In the Backstabbior galaxy?""Well,someone'sbeen paying attention in Xenogeography class...""The ones famous for being the most notorious turncoats in the universe, who eventuallyeateveryone they ally with?""The very sam-"The Master paused."...ah."





	Best-Laid Plans Never Go Awry

**Author's Note:**

> Hooray! Finally, I get to publish a DW fic that _isn't_ tied to a specific holiday!  
> (Granted, it's a silly little oneshot rather than any of my 10+ longer WIPs, but it's a step in the right direction.)  
> Hope you enjoy!

"Ready to-a order, sir?" The waiter asked, mangling a heavy, obviously fake Italian accent.

"Well then." The Doctor calmly closed his menu, making a mental note to try the seafood. "So this is a trap, isn't it."

A pause.

"You could've at least _pretended_  to fall for it!" The Master grumbled, peeling off the fake mustache he had glued on (yes, over his goatee) and shrugging out of the waiter's coat (yes, over his customary nehru jacket).  
~~~~

"Certainly, but I'm rather peckish by now, and the anonymous invitation wasn't exactly you at your most subtle." The Doctor plucked up his napkin, and idly folded it into an Jugoon warrior.

"Sit, explain your nefarious scheme over dinner. The prawn linguine do look delicious."

The Master vindictively reached over to crumple the napkin-warrior's head, but then settled into the chair opposite the Doctor, gesturing at a real waiter to bring them some food. "Was the accent convincing, at least?"

The Doctor chose to take a sip of wine rather than answer. Or chortle. He had a feeling that might not go down so well.

"Hrrrm." The Master glowered a little at the fact that no immediate praise was forthcoming, but finally seemed to decide the Doctor was an incorrigible philistine when it came to matters of stealth - see ludicrous velvet jackets - and not worth reprimanding. "Where was I?"

"Scheme." The Doctor provided helpfully.

"Oh yes." The Master brightened noticeably at that, though he caught himself quickly and schooled his features into the customary evil smirk. "You will find, my dear Doctor, that my trap is just about to be sprung! Long before I placed the note luring you here-"

"The invitation to a dinner date?"

"Call it as you will." Though the look on the Master's face very clearly implied that usage of the word 'date' was highly discouraged. " _Anyways,_ I took it upon myself to install supragravity bombs in strategic locations around the planet, which, as you well know, have one major design flaw: they cannot be set off without the activator right there in the blast radius, making them just plain impractical and thoroughly unappealing- _do you mind!?_ "

The Doctor paused in knotting his napkin around his neck. "Oh, do carry on, I'm perfectly capable of multitasking, enough at least to follow your no doubt 'brilliant'-" (Were those implied quotation marks? The cheek!) "-plan while simultaneously enjoying a scrumptious meal." He gestured down at the plate that had just been placed before him.

The Master, deciding that time really was too short to argue with someone as impossible as the Doctor, brusquely carried on. "Yes. Well. The aforementioned properties have always rendered supragravity bombs insufficient for my plans in the past. Now, however-" (The Doctor slurped loudly on a noodle.) "-I have solved that messy issue. A race of aliens fully immune to the effects of supragravity have sworn me their allegiance." (The bruschetta crunched as the Doctor took a bite of it.) "Once I instruct them in the activation process, I hold this entire miserable planet hostage! Frankly, I haven't quite decided yet whether to give it to my new allies to reign - I have no use for these ape primitives, myself - or set the bombs off anyway, just for the undoubtedly delightful expression that will adorn your face as you see your beloved earth crumple as if it were made from paper-maché, my dear Doctor!"

The Master rubbed his hands, enjoying a good evil chuckle.

The Doctor slowly lowered the forkful of linguine already halfway to his mouth, frowning. He seemed genuinely worried by the information the Master had shared with him, which was actually a somewhat rare occurrence. The Doctor was usually much more prone to uncaring mockery or pompously pontificating, insufferable man that he was.

"These aliens you've allied yourself with..."

"Yes?" The Master folded his hands and leaned back, clearly exordinately pleased with the unsettled look on his best enemy's face.

"...they don't happen to be Traitorians?"

"Why, Doctor! Correct on first try, congratulations."

"Of the planet Betrayus?"

"Absolutely."

"In the Backstabbior galaxy?"

"Well, _someone's_ been paying attention in Xenogeography class..."

"The ones famous for being the most notorious turncoats in the universe, who eventually eat alive everyone they ally with?"

"The very sam-"

The Master paused.

_"...ah."_

"Yes."

"There seems to be a minor flaw in my scheme."

"You don't say."

It was moments like these which made the Doctor wonder how the Master had managed to not permanently kill himself while he wasn't looking... yet.

 

The Master, for his part, now looked rather unsettled himself. Thinking back on it, the Traitorians _had_ been licking their lips rather often during their parley... and he should've _known_  throwing salt and pepper on him was more than a strange cultural quirk!

"We should, perhaps..." The Doctor gestured in the direction of the exit.

"Yes, quickly..."

The moment their chairs scraped over the floor, every head in the restaurant swiveled around on their necks to face them, sometimes by an impossible number of degrees.

The Doctor and the Master exchanged a look.

Slowly sat down again.

"In light of the current circumstances..." the Master muttered under his breath. "I find my alliances suddenly shifting. Any inkling on how we might escape together, my dear Doctor?"

"We could attempt to contact UNIT." He suggested. "I'm sure I could improvise a 'phone from this candlestick, a bit of wire, and the rest of my starter course..."

The Master groaned. "Must you? This is embarrassing enough as is. Come now, we're both Timelords, we should be able to escape on our own and never talk of this again."

"Speak for yourself, old chap. I rather think I'll mock you with it for a while."

"Get us out of this alive and unregenerated, I might even let you."

The Doctor poked at his food, thinking.

And thinking.

"...are you _certain_ you won't have UNIT involved...?"

"Oh, for...!" The Master quickly contained his outburst of frustration. "Right. Of course. What was I even expecting from you, I always _was_ the brains."

"Excuse you! Which one of us got the better grades at Academy, hm?"

"I did, if you cared to remember the correct timeline. Weaknesses. Do Traitorians have any weaknesses?"

"Well..." The Doctor considered that for a while. "They are notoriously commitment-phobic, obviously. Earnestly binding oneself to something or someone permanently is a major taboo in their culture, to the point of mass panic. Perhaps, if you could ham your alliance to me up a little... though it might not have enough impact considering their diplomatic team is undoubtedly de-sensitised to political connections..."

The Doctor carefully observed the strange glint that had crept up behind the Master's eyes. It reminded him of their school days, and those moments just before one of his pranks was set into motion.

"You've just had an idea, haven't you? And I won't like it, will I?"

"Rules of improv theatre, my dear fellow!" The Master smiled mock-innocently. "Simply say yes to anything."

All things considered, it might be more advisable to just let himself be eaten, the Doctor thought.

 

With a dramatic flourish, the Master rose from his chair. "Doctor, my dear Doctor, oh, I can be silent no longer!" He intoned, with all the subtlety of a schoolboy acting in the Christmas panto. "Ever since we met at the Academy, _I knew you were the One for me!_ "

(The last part was spat into the faces of the Traitorians who had already begun to advance on him, and they recoiled in horror.)

Encouraged by his success, the Master continued. "I love you, and _only_ you!" (The Doctor wondered if he was the only one who saw him grimace lightly at the word 'love'.) "My existence would be dreary were you not in it! Both my hearts beat solely for you! Doctor, my dearest..."

The Master dropped to one knee beside the table, procuring a ring from... somewhere, the Doctor was understandably distracted.

"Will you marry me?"

 

There was a brief pause, in which all the Traitorians (and perhaps the Doctor, too) wore identical expressions of horror while staring at the ring, not unlike one would look at a bomb whose counter had just hit zero.

Then he glanced up to see the Master's furiously urgent glare of _just go with it, you insufferable dunce_ and just about caught himself.

"Yes!" The Doctor exclaimed, as un-wooden as he could manage, trying to remember the spectacle that one girl at UNIT canteen had made of herself when that nice leftenant had offered her a ring. "Oh, Master, YES, I _will_  marry you!"

All the Traitorians in the room let out a screech of abject terror, and started running around like chickens with their heads cut off, which nonetheless distinctly sensed the presence of a fox.

"WITH THIS RING, I DO WED THEE!" The Master shouted over the pandemonium, grabbing the Doctor's hand and cramming the ring onto whichever finger presented itself. The Traitorians in their closer vicinity immediately shied away from them, screeching even louder.

The Doctor hauled him to his feet, and together, they bolted for the exit.

"FOR BETTER OR WORSE!" The Master bellowed, and the Traitorians blocking their way scattered in a frenzy.

"IN SICKNESS AND HEALTH!" The Doctor chimed in, dragging him to the side to avoid one brave soul making a lunge for them.

"'TIL DEATH DO US PART!" Triumphantly, they burst through the doors of the restaurant, and out into a drizzly English afternoon.

The Traitorians hissed behind them, lingering in the doorway, but not even one dared to come after them.

They were safe.

 

The Master and the Doctor looked at each other... and burst out laughing.

"D-did you _see_  the face of the..." The Master gasped.

"The one who..." The Doctor did his best to adapt an exaggerated grimace of sudden nausea while also grinning from ear to ear.

"Yes! Thought he was going to...!"

"...looked like...!"

They collapsed against each other, helplessly chuckling.

It was moments like these which had made both the Brigadier and Jo ask the Doctor, in all confidence, "you and the Master... aren't _actually_  enemies, are you?", both together and independently from one another. (And Benton sometimes had that look in his eyes where he wanted to ask, but decided it might not really be his place, so he kept quietly speculating.)

It was _also_  moments like these (the Doctor had a rather wide array of recognisable moments at his disposal, now that he thought about it) which made this question terribly hard to answer...

 

The Master sobered from their mirth first, clearing his throat and tugging at the hems of his sleeves self-consciously. "Well. That was utterly mortifying." He said. "But at least I made sure it would be for both of us, so we might agree to keep our silence about this after all, hm, Doctor?"

"Ah, fine." The Doctor sighed, wiping a tear out of the corner of his eye. "Though I wager Jo _would_  find this rather amusing."

"I'm sure she would." The Master muttered, already contemplating how one might kill her most effectively should the Doctor choose to confide in her, after all.

The Doctor rubbed his hand over his other eye, but froze at the feel of metal against his skin. The Master's ring was still there, a hint too high on his fourth finger.

Ignoring the mutterings about long-distance triggers to his right, the Doctor slipped it off, inspecting the frankly exquisite craftsmanship.

"Why _did_  you have a betrothal ring ready, actually?" He asked, trying to sound casual rather than suspicious, running one finger over the seven-point star embedded in the darkstar alloy. Downright lovely, it was.

The Master stiffened visibly.

"Do you have joyous news to impart, dear friend?" The Doctor couldn't help but tease a little. "Last I heard, you were not 'allied' to any..."

"Only wishful thinking at the moment." The Master retorted quickly. "I'd like it back now, if you please..."

The Doctor, thanks to his superior height, easily held him at arm's length, still squinting at the ring. "Inscribed! Honestly, old chap, I never would've thought you a romantic! That is your name, I think..."

"Enough of that, _giveitbackto-_ "

"...and the rest reads... oh."

"THIS MEANS NOTHING!" The Master nearly-screeched, snatching the ring from the Doctor's slackening grip and protectively cradling it against his chest.

The Doctor blinked. "Master." He said, very calmly. "Would you care to explain what _my name_ might be doing on _your_ betrothal ring?"

"Whatever conclusions you think you've arrived at, you're sadly mistaken!" The Master drew himself up to his full (yet still somewhat negligible) height, both bristling with indignation and curiously flushed. "As if I would ever- I have no _intentions_  towards you! NONE!!!"

They both froze at an alien screech behind them. One of the Traitorians was excitedly pointing at their arguing, calling out to its friends still cooped up in the restaurant.

"Dear oh dear." The Doctor muttered. "We should, perhaps, continue run-"

"Oh, for crying out loud!" The Master reached over and grabbed his hand again, forcefully pushing the ring back into place. "THERE! STILL HAPPILY MARRIED, SEE!?" He held up the Doctor's hand, pointing demonstratively at the jewelry adorning it. "MERELY A TYPICAL NEWLYWED JOKE, HA HA HA!" (Here, he drove his elbow into the Doctor's side until he - still somewhat shell-shocked - emitted a weak chuckle.) "WE WILL NOT BE AVAILABLE TO BE EATEN UNTIL AFTER THE HONEYMOON, EVER SO SORRY!"

The Traitorians hissed from the safety of the doorway, but the renewed declaration seemed unsettling enough to keep them at a distance.

"There is a _perfectly reasonable_ explanation for that ring!" The Master furiously whispered. "And it has nothing whatsoever to do with a... a _fondness_  I'm harbouring - may or MAY NOT be harbouring - for you! Absolutely not!"

"Naturally." The Doctor smirked, admiring the glint of the gem. It _was_  a lovely little thing... and teasing material for regenerations to come, it seemed. "Whatever silly nonsense you feel obliged to tell yourself to preserve your peace of mind. Do I get to keep it, then?"

" _What!?"_

"The ring. Do I get to keep it?" Revenge, the Doctor thought with an angelical smile, was a dish best served at any degree, really, and this would teach the Master not to carry around highly presumptuous jewelry when he hadn't even taken the Doctor to dinner beforehand!

Well.

He _had,_ but they hadn't even gotten to the dessert course, so the Doctor didn't feel like it counted. Of the many things he had considered himself over the years, 'a cheap date' was not among them, no sir.

"You _did_ give it to me, after all... and with such a dramatic declaration of undying love to boot!"

The Master's expression made for a fascinating display, oscillating between mortification and outrage, until it settled into something mostly murderous.

"Careful, Doctor." He purred dangerously. "Recall, if you will, that we must needs stay together for the sake of the children-" he gestured at the alien-filled restaurant "-so I suggest you cease providing me with grounds for divorce."

The Doctor shook his head sadly. "Where oh where has the magic gone..."

The Master might've responded tartly (and a hint bitterly) with something like "Probably flown off in a stolen TARDIS!", but as it was, a contingent of UNIT soldiers, led by the Brig and Jo, rounded the corner, so instead he snapped "What are _they_ doing here!?" and left it at that.

 

"Er." The Doctor sheepishly rubbed his neck. This was rather... unfortunate... timing. Which Timelords should really be immune to, all things considered.

"Doctor!" Jo gasped, running up to him. "Are you alright? I _knew_ the Master was up to something! Thank goodness you left us a note to come save you after half an hour!"

"I'm, ah, quite well, dear girl." The Doctor muttered, trying to ignore the hurt look the Master was given him.

"You _preemptively_ involved UNIT? Doctor! I am insulted! Is that why you attempted to convince me to let you call them? IS THAT IT!?"

"As if I _could've_ called them with the supplies I had access to!" The Doctor scoffed. "That wasn't even a _brass_ candlestick!"

"Are those the aliens?" The Brigadier interjected, squinting at the restaurant with that resigned air only he could uphold while talking about the miracle of extraterrestial life.

"Oh yes, terribly dangerous ones!" The Master jumped to respond, before the Doctor could even open his mouth. "Do not engage them at any cost. I highly suggest you simply bomb the place from afar, and quickly!"

The Doctor frowned, but, when he was met with a challenging look of _'what, do YOU want the Traitorians to spread this story all over the universe? Oh, and eat more people, I suppose, the first matter taking priority of course',_ decided to give in and simply nodded to the Brigadier in silent confirmation.

"Right." The Brigadier whirled around, already gesturing for his men to ready the tank they had brought with them. (The Master should frankly be a bit flattered by how much weaponry they had deemed neccessary for a confrontation with him...)

"Well, that's that then." The Doctor said brightly, since the Traitorian assistance the Master's scheme had been relying on would obviously be unavailable now, and, due to the rather short half-life of the main reagent responsible for supragravity explosions, the bombs would be completely worthless hunks of metal within the next two days. "Threat averted, problem solved, day saved. I rather fancy some tea now. And a bit of cake for dessert, we never did get around to it. Strawberry sponge, perhaps? Care to join-"

"Doctooooor..." Jo said, in an innocent tone that somehow still managed to spark more dread than even the Master's best threats. "Since when have _you_ been wearing an engagement ring?"

It was moments like these, during which Jo was smirking up at him knowingly, the Brigadier was playing around with some of his bigger (silly) guns, and the Master was subtly sneaking off towards the suspicious red phone booth on the corner before someone remembered he was supposed to be placed in UNIT custody if at all possible, which made the Doctor wonder if divine lifeforms did exist, and whether or not they were having a grand old laugh over him right now.

"There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for that ring... or so I've been told." The Doctor muttered evasively. Thankfully Jo, the dear girl, was a little preoccupied gawping at the burning heap of rubble the restaurant had been reduced to, and let the matter rest.

For now. The Doctor was under no illusion that this was anything but a temporary truce...

 

* * *

 

It only really occured to him later, back at the lab, when Benton's expression turned almost _painfully_ inquisitive upon seeing him, that the Master, in his hasty flight, had neglected to take the ring back after all.

Which was just as well, really. Either he would get to keep this beautiful little masterpiece, or the Master would show up later in the day to demand it back, meaning they might get to finish their dinner. The Doctor had already set aside a slice of sponge just for that eventuality, and changed into one of his ruffle-richest, most-velvety ensembles. He was well-prepared.

(Depending on how the conversation he planned to conduct over dinner went - and whatever happened after, which he supposed one might label 'conjugal duties' now - he might give the Master ample reason to let him keep the ring, anyway.)

 

 

Perhaps, on that occasion, he might also confess that the Traitorians had really only reacted that extremely to the ultrasound setting on his sonic screwdriver, which he'd covertly activated at opportune moments, and weren't intimidated by interpersonal relationships whatsoever.

(Implying so had just been a silly prank, which, the Doctor supposed, running his finger over the ring's inscription with a soft smile, really had worked out much, _much_ better than he ever would've imagined.)

Or, maybe, he might keep that particular factoid to himself for now.

He rather fancied it would make for a smashing story to tell on their Diamond Wedding Anniversary.

**Author's Note:**

> The only difference between the Master and the Doctor is that the latter's (semi-)evil plans actually work out...
> 
> I started an illustration for this, but abandoned it halfway through, shame on me. However, I felt like I couldn't deprive my esteemed readers of the privilege that is seeing the Master wear a fake moustache, so I'll just put this small part of my preliminary sketch here.  
>   
> (Nugget agreed with me that it's faintly terrifying. What do you think? Leave a comment!)


End file.
